I enjoy variety and truly believe it is the spice of life. People come in the most varieties of all; no two are exactly the same. I believe each person has a significant gift to share and a unique journey to live.

The Pages are not lacking in these givers and journeyers who share their insights, joys, traumas, imaginations, hopes, despairs, fantasies, fictions, beliefs, and doubts via the written word in prose, poetry, stories, and quips.

I have laughed many a time and cried many a time, as I have sat with mouse in hand reading these Pages and sharing my own heart. Folks here are an inspiration to my soul and have been a catalyst for significant growth in my own life. I have witnessed a mutual respect among this variety of souls that if duplicated in our world, would make it a better place.

Preston and I pmed back and forth in a type of interview (very short one....I guess we could continue. )

What is your age bracket: under 25, 25 - 50, over 50?I stopped counting 3 years ago when I hit 49.

What is your name?Jerry LaVergne

How long have you been writing poetry? Do you recall what led you, if anything, to start writing?About 5 years ago I had to quit working because of medical reasons. I thought, "This would be a good time to have a midlife crisis ... just go ahead and get it over with once and for all so I can get on with my life".
I even checked out a few psychology books from the library to get me off on the right track ... but I never could quite get the hang of it.
So I took up gardening and started writng poetry.

What has inspired/inspires you to write? Is there a certain setting where you like to write? Do you listen to music when you write?As far as the original inspiration ... that would be Billy Collins. I found a copy of his book, "Sailing Alone Around the Room" at the library (this would be after I returned the psychology books). He sort of struck a chord with me.

There's not any particular setting where I write, but most of my ideas come to me when I'm sleeping. On more than one occasion I've been compelled to get up in the middle of the night and scribble out some ideas.

Usually though, they don't survive the light of day.

What is one of your favorite poems that you have penned?That would be, "Dave Brubeck, On A Rainy Sunday Afternoon."

It was one of those poems that just kind of wrote itself.

Dave Brubeck, on a rainy sunday afternoon

She stands fluid in a shaft of pale moonlight
Stylishly attired
Yet with a plain and simple bearing.
A welcome escape
In this landscape of wanton excess.

Not quite a damsel in distress.
More, a lady in need of assistance
Unacquainted with the realities of solitary passage
And I, not quite a knight in shining armor
More, a passing gentleman who stops to lend a hand

I take her arm
And lead her to the safety of a well lit doorway
Where we stand in silence
And take of measure each other
And this evolving scene

A reenactment of so many chance encounters
Which could yet go either way
So i add laughter in the distance
And strains of sparse piano jazz
From a little cafe just down the way

Where we make our way hurriedly
Pausing for a moment at the corner.
Where not content to wait
We take each other's hand and cross against the light
Anxious now to see what lies ahead.

A table in the corner
With an unobstructed view
Where just beyond her profile
A trio of nameless musicians
Takes the stage

And here it all begins to fall apart
This rainy daydream fading
Into convoluted melodies
And non-chromatic phrasings
Once again

Following are 3 of my favorite poems from Preston...poems I have read and that have lingered with me. They come to mind from time to time, mainly when I recognize the need to slow down enough to observe and appreciate life itself.

***************************************She Speaks in Sign

fingers move
the words flow out like water
painting pictures
in undulating waves

people stare
worlds collide
they never take the time to listen
they never try to understand

I wrote this with a young girl I met on a Sierra Club outing in 1995. Although some of it may seem nonsensical, I went ahead and included the entire "poem" because I thought it gave a unique perspective on how a 13 year old deaf girls sees and "hears" the world around her.

*******************************************

The Dallas Public Library

“poetry is for sissies”
or so says the chubby little boy with the red face
his sister sticks her tongue out at him
and looks at me inquiringly
inquiring children make me nervous
“your brother is a jerk” i whisper
as i place my copy of “a collection of american erotic verse”
on the very top shelf
sliding it back out of sight
she asks me if i like emily dickinson
i tell her i prefer robert frost

the not quite homeless man
stares intently at his magazine
the smell of stale cigarette smoke permeates the air around him
he sees me looking at him, and nervously drops his gaze
i’m curious about his taste in periodicals
amatuer sleuth that i am
casually making my way down the aisle of newspapers on sticks
and coming up silenty behind him
he’s staring at a lingerie ad in a cosmopolitan
a young girl in a high cut purple thong
barechested, with her arm across her breasts
when i was a boy, i had to sneak a look at my father's playboys
to see pictues like that

the little girl in the rangers cap
wants to know why they’re lying about hitler
her mother is ignoring her
i wonder what her interest is in world war two history
for some reason, it makes me uncomfortable
she seems out of place here
she’d look much better in the romance novels section

two college girls have made themselves at home
sitting on the floor in the middle of the natural history section
one of them has a book on whales open on her lap
they’re discussing the japanese’s bad habit of killing minke whales
in the name of scientific research
i think about flashing them my greenpeace member card
but i don’t want to intrude

the elderly man in the brown fedora and blue windbreaker
is trying to decide if he’s really interested in quantum physics
he looks like someone i’d enjoy talking with
we could sit and ponder the mysteries of the universe over coffee

the lady in front of me at the checkout is being a real pain in the ass
she’s arguing with the oriental girl behind the desk over her late charges
“you have a balance of $1.25 on your account”
they don’t call them fines anymore
i’m tempted to offer to pay her charges myself just to shut her up
she wants to recheck 5 books
what the hell, if you can’t finish them in 3 weeks ...

the girls name is asuka
she has an east coast accent
i’m careful not to comment on the japanese whaling industry’s bad habits
she scans my card and smiles at me
“no fines ?” i ask
we both crack up
“reading material for the holiday ?” she asks
we exchage pleasantries
discussing the change in the weather and our respective holiday plans
she puts the books in a nice neat little pile and slides them across the counter
i wish her a happy thanksgiving
and she tells me i should have a nice day

on the way out to the car i pass by the newspaper stands
a headline catches my eye
“is hip hop dead ?”
who cares
i’ve got plenty of reading material
and a whole lot of free time

I have to admit that "The Dallas public library" is my favorite for the mo.
I like it because through your words you carry the reader into a snippet of your life...
and that something that seems so ordinary can be transcribed into such a beautiful poem!